Agents of Hunger
by DoctorFitzy
Summary: This year's tributes are different. They're not your ordinary set of people. They're agents, but they've been put in a different situation. Born in a different world. You've got highly trained mentors such as Coulson and Melinda, but when the tributes are drawn and fates are changed, this team will do whatever it takes to survive this year's 23rd annual Hunger Games.


**Agents of Hunger**

**Chapter One**

**A/N:** Yay! First crossover with AOS. I know I haven't been updating my other stories and I probably should but I'll try my best to get them updated. Thank you for your patience and kindness like usual! I can't wait until Season 2 for AOS, are you ready? I'm not! I hope you enjoy this chapter and feedback is appreciated like usual :)

**Jemma Simmons**

"Fitz, I am going to say this for the last time. The knives go inside its proper compartment, not sticking out of mannequin heads. This is something Akela does not need and probably won't want to see," I scold, watching him slowly creep out behind a mannequin, with a smug yet guilty look on his face. We're inside our training compound. A large facility located among other training related buildings. Ours is private. It's close by, so we've been walking to it ever since we were 7. Typical Capitol protocol. Our parents bought it specially for the two of us, though it's rather lonely with it's echoing and dark walls. The best place to spend years of your childhood, the Capitol would say. Preparing your children for a lifetime of commitment, endurance, and success.

"I was just playing around. There's no need to be so serious," he grins, his voice bouncing across the black walls. "You look tense. Maybe I should go get you some water. A hot towel? Foot massage?" He twirls the sharp knives in his hands and throws them aside like play toys. Those knives are the Capitol's pride and beauty. They have good grips so you never have to worry about it falling. Press the button on the grip and you can sharpen and change the size of it. Perfect for murder, Fitz sarcastically says, mocking our representative from District 1. I can't help but laugh quietly at the memory.

"Fitz!" I scold again, throwing my hands in exasperation. "Tomorrow. . Reaping. We need to be serious about this. It's not fun and games anymore. Akela made sure I- we, knew that." Akela is our trainer. Brutal. Fierce. Serious. She whips cold hard fear into Fitz though I sometimes ponder whether the years of intense training have paid off. We're not exactly the image District 1 wants. Slim figures. Muscular. Tall. We're almost like... monkeys, in modest clothing. I don't like the Capitol clothing, it disgusts me.

"I don't want to talk about it," he says plainly. "Murdering bloody people? That's something I don't want to watch. Hell, to even participate in. The Capitol can go to hell for all I care. Taking away my books, burning my years of research," he mumbles on about. Not again. "We might not even get chosen, you know."

"Fitz, our parents put in a lot of money into our training, the Academy, the Fort. I trust they made the right decisions," I assure him, my hand on his shoulder. "They care about us, this is the only way we're going to win. If we're in the Games. But we need to focus on the present and that's training." Trust me, I don't like this more than you do. I haven't even considered that we might not get chosen. We won't, though. This is our last year before we're not eligible, fate or no fate, he's right. The chances of us going in is pretty slim, and even with our training I still don't want to become a murderer on a live broadcasting.

Fitz looks away, his eyes storming like usual with ideas and brilliance. Education, learning, discovering. We're in love with science. Our parents are completely disgusted at the thought, so they took everything precious from him.

I tried to convince them but they wouldn't listen. So I did what they asked. I hid them. Studied them privately when my parents weren't around. Mixing substances in flasks. Calculated equations. Courtesy of the Capitol's science building, with parents who have a grand status we have the equipment at our expense. But beauty like that comes with a price. Secrecy.

Fitz picks up a steel ball the size of a baby's fist and throws it angrily at the wall again. This isn't the first temper tantrum he's throwing. He's been so restless lately, I don't know what to do. Night after night he sends messages to my Pod, a messaging device hooked up to my bedroom window, begging me to go down to his penthouse across from ours. I go every night, sneaking out and returning before sunrise.

The computer system beeps in response to his throw. It isn't the first time. I glance at the damage. There, up in the far left corner, his throw chipped the window panels. Great. Instead of ignoring the ear shattering beeps, I'm more concerned with Akela bursting in at any moment, ready to make us run laps and laugh at our misery.

"What the hell are you two doing in here?" Akela suddenly shouts, stomping in through the doors. "I leave you two fools in here for a few minutes and you set off the system's alarm. Is that a chipped window? If your parents find out I'm responsible, I'm dead. You hear me? D-E-A-D. DEAD."

"We heard you the first time, Akela," I gently say. "It was an accident. Fitz's throw was not as approximate as he calculated. He's getting better, which frankly is good news with the Reaping tomorrow and all."

Fitz slowly smiles, making me warm inside like Capitol hot chocolate. "Absolutely. I apologize for my erratic behavior. It won't happen again. I promise." Thank you, he mouths.

She glares at us, her eyes murderous. "There won't be a next time after tomorrow."

Then she slams the doors shut. I take a deep breath, trying not to get angry.

I don't know if Fitz and I are ready.


End file.
